Chapter 7 – Ravvi
Chapter Seven
Ravvi
“By the way, screw you. I’m an adult. I can look after myself.” Cove spins and bolts toward the buses at a rapid pace. “All of you hovering and asking the same questions is starting to piss me off.”
“Goddamn infuriating woman,” I mutter, taking off after her.
She’s reliving the past again, a low feminine voice says close to my right ear.
Yeah, well, I don’t need to be psychic to know that’s true.
There’s no point in glancing over my shoulder. There won’t be anyone there. There never is.
I’m clairaudient, which is a type of psychic ability that presents as auditory extrasensory perception. One of the first doctors my parents took me to in the States was convinced I was having hallucinations.
Once my family ruled that out, they took a break from sending me to doctors.
Most of them didn’t believe me.
The few who did wanted to study my brain.
It’s no wonder people with gifts hide them.
I guess a small percentage choose to exploit them for their own gain, but in reality, most of the self-proclaimed psychics I’ve met were frauds.
A few had gifts like clairsentience, claircognizance, or clairvoyance, though a very small number compared to the whole.
I did spend about six months seeing a neurologist who was studying psychic abilities in neurodivergent kids and teens. She was convinced the whispers—what I call the voices that tell me things—are actually a form of telepathy.
That doesn’t fit for two reasons.
First, some of the voices are downright fucking terrifying. There’s no way I was overhearing someone’s thoughts and mistook them for spoken words.
Second, the whispers can lie.
Some do it because they can.
Others want to deceive some poor living fool and watch as the chaos ensues and their life falls apart.
It may have taken me almost a quarter of a century, but I’ve built up a few voices that I trust.
The rest?
Well, I try to tune them out whenever possible, but some are persistent. It’s better now than it was when I was a kid. I used to hear them constantly, but it’s much less frequent now.
“We all make mistakes,” I call out, chasing Cove across the parking lot.
Her long wavy blonde hair bounces around her shoulders as she stomps away from me as fast as she can without actually running.
“I’m not perfect. No one is. I’ve apologized more times than I can count for leaving that day.
I’d also really fucking appreciate it if you could see things from my point of view for once. ”
Her entire body stiffens, and I know I made a mistake.
Apparently, I’m just never supposed to mention that I’m a human being with thoughts, feelings, and emotions of my own?
I’ve put myself out there over and over again, but the only time she’s ever wanted me was when she needed my knot. She also made it blatantly clear that after the heat sex, she wanted us to brush it under the rug and go back to being only bandmates.
My heart couldn’t handle that, and if she had been thinking clearly, she would have known how hurtful it was for her to even ask.
She really is about to drive me over the edge.
I can see her suffering.
I’m ninety-five percent sure I could help if she would let me in, but she’s legitimately the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.
We’re meant to be.
I’ve been able to feel it in my soul since the first time I laid eyes on her.
You’re going to want to apologize, a gravelly male voice says. It’s unfamiliar, so I would normally avoid taking the advice out of principle, but I have a feeling he’s right.
Do ghosts or spirit guides stand around, watching everything the living do? That’s creepy, and I think about it often.
Other times, I don’t care.
Let them watch.
It’s not like they’ve got anything better to do than supervise my clusterfuck of a life.
God.
I’m too jaded to not even be twenty-five.
Cove doesn’t stop marching away from me, and I frown.
It feels like I’ve been chasing that woman for my whole damn life.
At what point do I accept that I’m just not what she wants?
“I’m sorry,” I call out. “In case it matters, I wish I could go back in time and make you not hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m just never going to be the perfect little omega housewife that you want.”
I stop dead in my tracks as my head tilts. “Who the fuck said I wanted that?”
She keeps walking, and my head falls back. You can barely see any stars with the light pollution from the city.
“I hate this so much,” I mutter, diverting to the twins’ bus.
I can’t be cooped up on a tiny tour bus with her right now.
The bus rocks gently as we finally get moving. I was wasted before Riot and Creed made it back to the bus with the gaggle of women they brought on to hang out for an hour. I’m sure they would have been willing to travel to the next city with us, but Bellamy put her foot down.
I don’t understand why the twins even bother. They rarely, if ever, hook up with anyone, but they do love to party. I shouldn’t be an ass. They know how to treat the fans to the experience they all crave, and that means there’s less pressure on Damian and me to do it.
Part of the fantasy is that any lucky fan could catch our eye. It’s what brings them to the shows. Well, that and our music, but there’s a particular group that only pop up because they want to fuck a rock star.
They’re shit out of luck where Damian and I are concerned, so it’s nice to have the twins around to temper some of those expectations. Even then, they’re big on flirting and making out, but it’s rare that I see them disappear with anyone. They must get that from their dad.
Issac was a pro at keeping the fans happy and making them feel like they had a great time, but he’s always been sickeningly in love with Love. He never played when it came to making sure the groupies knew he was locked down.
Then again, I always do my best not to imagine the things that went down when the old-timers were on tour.
Speaking of tours…
We’re the most cock-blocking tour to have ever toured.
Fuck.
I’m too high for my thoughts to even make sense.
Luckily, I had Bellamy around to play defense with the groupies, so I didn’t have to shove any handsy women off my lap.
While we aren’t related, we were raised as one big-ass family pack.
She’s more like a cousin than sister, but she’s vicious when she needs to be, which is convenient when I don’t want to have to be the bad guy.
I get it.
We’re a once-in-a-lifetime experience, so I always try to stay upbeat and friendly, but it’s also a fine line to walk. One wink or smile, and some fans think that means I want to hook up with them.
I do not.
Then shit gets awkward.
It’s a whole thing I like to avoid whenever possible.
“I asked you a question,” Riot says, slamming the side of his foot into my boot.
My head rolls around the back of the chair.
“I wasn’t listening to a word you said.” I snort, rubbing at my aching eyes.
It’s been a long day, and I’ll be sleeping on their couch or in an unfamiliar bunk tonight.
I like my pillows and blanket.
Dammit.
“Seriously, I don’t know how you do it,” Riot says, stretching back against the couch. “All the beautiful women in the world, throwing themselves at you, but you’re sitting around, moping and waiting for Cove to give you the time of day.”
“It’s painful to watch…” Creed says.
“They’re not her. She’s it for me.” I long ago got over the fact everyone looks at me like I’m a lovestruck idiot…because they’re right.
I am.
I’m not sure how many more years I can sit around waiting for a woman who might never want me, but I haven’t hit my breaking point yet.
“God, you’re like a loyal puppy—following her around just waiting to be petted.
” Bellamy laughs, taking a swig of the beer she scoops off the coffee table.
“And I like Cove. Don’t get me wrong, but at some point, she either needs to be real and tell you to move on because it’s just not happening, or she needs to give you a chance to fix things. ”
I open my mouth to defend Cove, like I always do, but some part of me agrees with Bells.
It’s been almost three years of hell since that first heat. At least before that we were genuinely close, even if we were only best friends.
Now…
I don’t know how to describe what we are.
Sometimes, things seem fine. She’ll laugh with me, and it feels like old times. Other times, it’s like she can barely stand to look at me. I can breathe wrong, and she’ll jump down my throat.
For a long time, I just took it, but one thing I can’t keep my mouth shut about is how sick she’s been. Not without at least trying to make her see what a dangerous game she’s playing with the suppressants.
Maybe things got too fucked up to ever be repaired?
“Groupies throw themselves at you all the time.” Creed shrugs, shoving his hair back from his face. “Actually give one the time of day. You’re sure to get a reaction. You know I love Cove, but the hypocrisy is starting to get to me.”
“I bet she’d draw a line in the sand real quick,” Riot says, nodding his agreement.
I shake my head.
I might be wasted, but that is bad advice.
“For the love of God,” Bellamy says, jabbing her beer at me. “Do not ever, under any circumstance, take their advice. I agree, you and Cove need to figure your shit out, but making her jealous won’t do anything but push the two of you further apart.”
“But what if it pushes her into actually showing that she cares?” Riot counters.
“We’re not saying he should fuck them,” Creed says. “Just a little harmless flirting.”
Bellamy scoffs. “Did you two idiots listen a single time my dad lectured you? No, it’s clear you didn’t.” Looking at me, she says, “They might have Issac’s DNA, but I swear they inherited my dad’s personality.”
If I didn’t know Bellamy is biologically Dexter’s, while the twins are Issac’s, I’d be really confused.
Or maybe I’m lit.
I shove myself out of my chair. “Which bunk is empty? I’m calling it a night.”
“Buzzkill,” Riot says, snorting.
“Top left,” Bellamy calls out.
I wave a hand over my head as I stagger toward the bunks.
It’s time I sleep off this terrible mood.